A darker shade of red Rewrite!
by Sumthinelse
Summary: This is a dark story and not about romance. Damaged people do unhealthy things in order to try to fix themselves. **Rewritten 5/31/17 in order to make it a longer story. This is not the same thing you read before.
1. 1 Nocturnal Mission

**For those who've read the previous incarnation of this story, sorry for yanking the rug out, but I wanted to extend the story. Following the general events of the show works better with the new pacing. Please bear with me.**

This is not a fluffy, romantic story. There is dubious and non-consensual sexual contact both mentioned in the past, and between the main characters. I write dark material. If you're not comfortable with this subject matter, please take care of yourself and don't read it.

Please read and review. If you want to give constructive criticism, I welcome it, but if you leave criticism anonymously, I have no way to reply so I won't post it. PM me if you have questions or concerns.

1\. Nocturnal Mission

Jughead stirred from sleep when he heard the bedroom door squeak open. He was, by necessity, a light sleeper, and opened his eyes, not moving. He lay on his side with his arm tucked under his pillow, and could see clearly enough through his eyelashes without needing to sit up. The unfamiliar room came into focus and he remembered where he was.

Cheryl, in what was probably a misguided attempt at imitating kindness, had offered to let Jughead stay in the guest house when she'd seen him leaving the drive-in. After the talk he'd just had with his father, the sullen teen had accepted. He'd spent the first week anticipating eviction, or some kind of prank. When that didn't happen, he'd expected Cheryl to ask him to do some kind of favor for her, like help her hide dead bodies, or something. To his surprise she'd started showing up while he did his homework, or cooked, or washed dishes. She'd just sit on the loveseat in the small living room, texting on her phone, or reading a magazine, usually ignoring him like she did at school.

Jughead found he wasn't surprised when he recognized the feminine silhouette, briefly illuminated in the doorway, before his visitor shut the door and padded silently across the floor. He didn't know if she knew he was awake, but she didn't hesitate before lifting the covers and sliding into bed beside him. She didn't put her arms around him, but curled onto her side, with her back to him, and drew her knees up. They'd be spooning if she'd been lying a little closer.

"How can your feet be this cold?" he asked, hissing when her icy toes pressed against his shins.

"Shut up."

They didn't speak again for several minutes and Jughead had just decided to fall back to sleep when he heard her voice, thin and brittle in the darkness, devoid of its usual sarcasm.

"When we were little, Jason used to come and sleep in my bed when he'd had a bad dream, and vice versa." Despite Cheryl having her back to him, he could hear the tears in her voice, even if they didn't fall.

"Is that why you're here?" his own voice was rough from sleep, but he wasn't unwilling to talk, even if the company was uninvited.

"No, I don't remember my dreams anymore." She cleared her throat and sniffled. "Most of the time, anyway."

"Are you afraid someone wants to kill you?"

"Yes."

"Considering the rate at which you make enemies, Cheryl, you're probably right."

"Thanks for the words of comfort," she said blandly and he chuckled softly.

"You woke me up."

"Sorry."

"It's okay." He mused that it was probably the first time she'd ever apologized to him. It was also probably the last time she ever would. "Do you want me to take the couch in case anyone breaks in?" he asked.

"No," she replied, tucking the covers around her. "Nobody would _ever_ think to look for me here."

Jughead smiled and rolled over, facing the window. He fell asleep fairly quickly considering the fact that he was sharing a bed for the first time in a long time.

Warm breath caressed the back of Jughead's neck and he woke, a little before dawn, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of being the little spoon. Cheryl had her arm draped over his waist and was tucked up behind him with her feet sandwiched between his. She hadn't struck him as the cuddling type, but she was warm and he drifted back off to sleep.

When Cheryl came back a week later, slipping wordlessly into Jughead's bed and curling away from him on her side, he rolled onto his back and gave up one of the pillows without a fight, or comment. He has nearly fallen back to sleep when she rolled over and tucked herself against the side of his chest. He smiled a little and drifted off, feeling a small amount of satisfaction that she trusted him.

Cheryl and Jughead didn't speak at school, and it suited them both fine since they didn't really have anything to talk about, but her visits to his bed became more frequent. After two weeks of sporadic nocturnal appearances, he barely woke when she came in for the third night in a row; he just lifted his arm from where he slept on his side and let her settle her back against his chest. Several hours later, he realized the folly of this when he woke to answer the call of nature and realized he'd been spooning Cheryl with morning wood.

Attempting to delicately extricate himself from her long hair, Jughead crawled over her to get to the bathroom. It was four in the morning, but he opted for a quick, cold shower in order to avoid embarrassment for the next few hours. The alternative solution to the problem, with her in the next room, was unthinkable. When he opened the door to the bathroom, Cheryl stirred and shaded her eyes from the overhead light.

"What are you doing?" She asked, grumpily as he pulled the cord, sending the room back into darkness.

"Showering," he answered, grunting as his toe hit the bedside table. His eyes weren't accustomed to the dark anymore. "I wanted to get in before the rush." He hopped nimbly over her and eagerly got back under the blankets. He turned away from her, in order to avoid any other anatomical mishaps and heard her sigh heavily before rolling over to throw an arm over him.

"You're freezing." Cheryl was surprised and lifted her head off the pillow, gripping his upper arm. "Like, your whole body is an ice cube. Is the hot water heater on the fritz?"

"No," he mumbled. He could practically hear her thinking.

"Did you have to take a cold shower?"

"Yes, go back to sleep." He felt the vibration of her laughter when she pressed her forehead against his spine. He rolled his eyes in exasperation, "It happens to _all_ guys in the morning," he continued, defensively. She was chuckling softly, now. "It would have been … _discourteous_ if I'd just left it like that while acting as temporary Big Spoon."

"Discourteous?" She laughed. "Oh, was that what was poking me in the lower back? I thought it was a finger."

"Believe me, you'd have known the difference," he replied, grumpily. "But I don't take advantage of sleeping bedmates."

"No, I don't suppose _you_ would." She settled down behind him and eventually they fell back to sleep.

Cheryl was absent for several nights before she came back. Jughead hadn't exactly missed her, but he'd grown accustomed to her warmth and found himself sleeping more fitfully, like his sleeping self was waiting for her. Then the door squeaked and he opened his arms when she got into bed, resting her head on his chest. He tucked his chin against the top of her head and smelled her fragrant shampoo, drifting into deep sleep.

Jughead stirred from a pleasant dream and rubbed his face against long, silky hair. A warm hand ran over his chest and a long, slim leg slid up over his knees. He turned into the familiar embrace and felt full, soft lips press into his. He opened his mouth with a sigh and returned the kiss, hesitantly while leaning into the gentle caresses. It felt good, just to be touched, and this touching was so gentle, soft, and affectionate. The warm waves of sleep gave way to a deeper heat of arousal. He opened his eyes and found himself wrapped around Cheryl. She was lying with half of her body on top of him, and in the dim light from the moon, he could see that she was looking down at him. Confused, he pulled back a little.

"Mmmh, what are you doing?" The teen mumbled, rubbing a hand on her lower back, absently while dragging his other hand over his eyes. He wondered when he'd arrived in the Twilight zone. Her knee inched higher and came dangerously close to an area of his body that had been awake for a while. He turned quickly onto his side, trying to fend off the discovery. Her leg kept moving up until her knee was near his hip and her lower leg draped over the back of his thigh. She moved her hand down his chest and to his abdomen before he grabbed her wrist. Their faces were inches apart and she closed the distance, kissing him a little harder. He kissed her back, for a moment, before turning his face away. "Wake up, Cheryl," he said.

"I am awake." She arched her back and pressed her breasts against his chest. "And so are you."

"Yeah, _now_." Jughead pushed away from her, falling to his back and left one of his knees cocked up to hide the status of his lower body. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and stared at the ceiling. "If I hadn't woken up, would you have taken things too far?" He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger. He had left himself open, vulnerable, while sleeping.

"What's too far?" The Cheryl from school was in his bed now, not the one he'd been sleeping beside for the past few weeks. She sat up, suddenly and straddled his hips. He gripped her thighs, automatically, as if he could hold her off. She settled her weight on him, letting the warmth from her body press against his thickening erection, and making his whole body go rigid. He noticed she only wore a tank top and panties, which meant that she'd ditched her cotton pajama pants before she'd begun touching him. The realization confused him even more. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he moved his grip to her forearms.

"Cheryl," he said, trying to hide the tremble in his hands. "I'm not used to the way you play games." He jumped when she rolled her hips and ground down against him. He grabbed for her waist in a panic, to try and stop her movements. "I swear, I wasn't going to try anything!" He heard his voice crack in desperation.

"I know, you were being …courteous." Her voice was velvety soft and she moved her hands down his chest and under his t-shirt. "Your skin is so soft, it's like sleeping with a skinny plushie." He gripped her wrists and stopped her exploration.

"This isn't funny, Cheryl."

"I'm not laughing." She rolled her hips against him, and to his embarrassment, he gave a quick jerk of his hips. She smiled when she felt him and did it again, pulling an involuntary groan from him. "You were right, there's no mistaking it for a finger in the dark." She inched her way lower on his hips, and his erection sprang up between them, tenting his pajama pants.

"Happy now?" he asked, coldly. He felt humiliation blaze through him like a forest fire. Unable to hide, he was stuck with his body's response on display. She stared openly at him. "You've proved you can get me excited with very little effort. Congratulations, I'm a guy."

"Intrigued? Yes. Happy? Not yet." She slipped her wrist from his grip and wrapped her cool fingers around his stiffening shaft. He started to grab for her, but when she began to stroke him through the thin cotton of his pajamas, he fisted his hand in the sheets and gritted his teeth. His brain refused to work properly and he arched, involuntarily, bucking up into her hand. Her touch felt amazing, despite his reluctance and he couldn't bring himself to try and hold her still. He felt her hand stop and she rested her palms on his legs, and moved down from his hips to his thighs.

"Cheryl-" His voice was rough, as he tried to make his brain work. He didn't know what he wanted to say to her, but any words died in his throat when she tugged down the top of his pants and bent over, taking the swollen head of his penis into her mouth.

The pleasure was too intense, and Jughead couldn't speak. He closed his eyes and pressed a hand against his forehead. His other hand held Cheryl's wrist and he squeezed it when she began to suck. He let go and reached up to grip the bars of the headboard. He rolled his hips as she moved up and down his shaft, slicking his flesh with her saliva. His breath was coming in short pants and he knew he couldn't hold out for long. Suddenly her mouth left him and he opened his eyes, looking up at her.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked.

"Uh, I can't-" He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't stop."

"What's the magic word?"

"Please don't stop!" he gasped, and then sighed with relief when she enveloped him again. She took her time building him back up with slower, firmer pulls with her mouth. Eventually he let out a hoarse cry an arched up into her mouth when he climaxed. She sucked him through the spasms before spitting his semen onto the sheets beside him.

"Do your laundry." Cheryl got up and left the room after that, and Jughead loosened his aching fingers from the bedpost. He took a shower and washed the sheets, like she'd ordered. His stomach burned with shame at how she'd managed to control him, so easily. She'd showed him her vulnerability and gained his trust, so he wouldn't push her away. He wished he'd resisted her, and he couldn't help feeling like he'd failed some test, and that she was disappointed.


	2. Traditions followed

**Note the changes to chapter one as of 5/31/17 I made changes in order to lengthen the story**

Jughead did his best to put the surreal events of the previous night in the back of his mind. He focused on his investigation with Betty and Kevin. They were interrupted by the sweetly hesitant Trevor, who verified his date with the pretty blonde. He was surprised when he felt an unfamiliar twist in his chest; his friend was dating someone. He and Kevin picked her denial apart, effectively tag-teaming her, and only gained a blush and a denial for their trouble. He was jealous. He reminded himself that he had no right to be jealous when he was engaging in…activities.

The moody teen kept thinking about Betty's ' _Intelligence gathering mission_ ' with Trevor, and stayed on the higher bleachers during Veronica's teasing. He didn't need anyone seeing him roll his eyes when the dark-haired girl referenced Nicholas Sparks in regards to Betty and Trevor. He ignored the discussion until Cheryl's voice startled him.

"Sorry to interrupt, Sad Breakfast Club." Cheryl handed out the formal invitations while telling them all that they were formally invited to the second, and apparently more fashionable funeral for her brother. She didn't look at Jughead, but handed his invite to Kevin who handed it back to him. He broke the seal and read the fine script with the date and time. Veronica left just after Cheryl, and he made his excuses, wanting to be alone. She was burying her brother…again. Maybe she'd needed a distraction, or some comfort from him. Any residual anger he'd been feeling towards the girl, for coming onto him so strongly, eased off. It was replaced by something else; pity? Compassion? He wasn't completely certain.

Jughead took the city bus out to the stop that was closest to the Blossom's estate. He used the side-entrance, as Cheryl had requested. The guest house was actually the old gate house from when the main entrance was closer to the maple grove. The building was square, two stories, and made from the same stone as the main house. It had small windows, and old doors, a bit neglected, but still classy. The pond and a grove of decorative trees separated it from the main house, but a stone pathway wove through the trees to the door. The first floor had a small kitchen with a breakfast bar, a couch and a chair. The upstairs was one large master suite with a standing shower, but no bathtub. He didn't mind, it was the nicest place in which he'd ever lived.

Jughead stared at the wall in silence and thought about packing up his things tonight. The Blossoms would probably need the guest house for family members who'd be arriving for the funeral. He thought about the clean sheets on the bed, and remembered Cheryl spitting after he'd come in her mouth. For all of her actions as the aggressor in the acts she'd performed, that had seemed the most upsetting. She had been rejecting part of him; and to spit his own substance onto the bed where he slept had been visceral and raw. It had hurt and embarrassed him, and left him feeling like there was something wrong with him. He glanced at the kitchen and the instant noodles he was planning to eat for dinner, when the door opened. He stood, quickly, and rubbed his damp palms on his trouser legs.

Cheryl had changed her clothes since school. No longer in her black skirt and blouse, she now wore a white, pantsuit that flattered her. She also looked like she was freshly showered, and wore very little makeup now. She held the door open and a young woman in black pants and a white shirt walked in. She carried a large serving tray and looked at the redhead who jerked her chin at the bar. Giving Jughead a brief smile, the woman set the tray down and left. There were several covered dishes on the tray, along with a pair of carafes, and the smell of food made his stomach growl; he joined her at the bar.

"The caterers came by with samples for the food we're serving at the funeral," Cheryl said, closing the door behind her. "They always bring too much." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and approached the tray. "There's some baked salmon with rice and asparagus," she said, lifting one of the silver-domed covers. "If you'd prefer beef, there's steak, herbed potatoes and peas." Her skin was ghostly, and there was a slight tremor in her hands when she lifted the second cover.

"Do you need me to leave tonight?" Jughead asked, placing his hand on the granite counter top. "I mean, if you have family or friends coming for the funeral, they'll probably need the guest house, right?"

"Don't be silly," she replied, placing a set of silverware rolled in a linen napkin on the counter. "Family and friends will stay in the main house." She glanced around at the room. "This place hasn't been updated in so long, it wouldn't be suitable." She didn't seem to notice what she'd just said, and he smiled. Then he noticed her eyes flick to the second set of silverware on the tray.

"Which did you like best?" The question was neutral enough, intended to keep her engaged. Jughead wasn't sure why he wanted her to continue talking to him, but she seemed so fragile, he had a sudden fear that she'd get knocked over by the army of staff who were carrying chairs and tables into the main house. If she fell, he was certain she'd shatter.

"I didn't try either one." The redhead didn't look at him, but busied herself setting down the plates and adding empty wine glasses. He noticed that the glasses were different, and realized that one was for the red wine that she poured from one of the carafes, and the other glass was for the white.

"What are you in the mood for?" he asked, picking up the glass of red wine and giving it a quick sniff. "Red or white?" He caught the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

"In this outfit?" she gestured to the white silk. "White."

"Don't want to live dangerously?" He let a smile of his own come out. He nudged the glass of red wine towards her. "Playing it safe?"

"You just want the salmon," she replied.

"We can switch halfway, if you want." Jughead picked up the glass of white wine and waited while his hostess moved the tray to the small table beside the couch. There were smaller dishes that hadn't been uncovered, but he could be patient. The plates and glasses were set across from each other. He tugged out the tall chair that was in front of the beef dish for her, getting a quick look of surprise from her. He might not have had many opportunities to show off, but his mother had taught him manners, and his father had reminded him to always use them with ladies. He sipped the white wine, cool and crisp, as he sat down in front of his plate.

"Veronica's going to come over the night before the funeral," Cheryl said, neatly slicing off a small piece of beef. "She's going to have dinner and then sleepover with me." She was giving Jughead an explanation for a planned absence from his bed. She popped the beef into her mouth and chewed, delicately. Then she sliced a small potato in half and ate it, followed by a forkful of peas. Following her example, he took a small bite of the salmon and ignored the asparagus. The fish melted in his mouth and he gave a small nod. "How is it?"

"Light," he replied. "The dill works." The teen took a bite of the rice and another sip of the wine. "I'm no expert, but the wine works well." Cheryl nodded, keeping her eyes on her own plate. They ate in silence for a few more minutes, and he made sure to stop eating once he was halfway through the salmon.

"You should try the asparagus," Cheryl said, lightly, eyeing his plate. "It's very fresh."

"Sure, Mom," he said, grinning. He sliced off the head of one of the spears and popped it into his mouth. It _was_ better than the frozen stuff his mother had occasionally inflicted on him in his youth, and he ate a second spear.

"Want to try the beef?" The redhead looked up then, meeting her guest's eyes directly. She picked up the carafes and refilled their glasses. When he nodded, she gently switched the plates and glasses. "Unforgivable, I know," she said with a dainty shrug. "Mommy would die if she saw me giving someone a plate from which I've already eaten." She twisted the stem of the wine glass, slightly, and Jughead noticed that the buttery print from his lips that sat on the edge of the glass was now closest to her. He glanced at the dark, red wine in the glass beside the plate of beef. A smudge of pale pink was visible, where her lip gloss had been left behind. She was watching him from under her lashes, and without thinking, he twitched the stem between his fingers.

"I don't mind." Jughead lifted the glass and took a sip of the richer, earthier wine. His lips felt a little sticky, and he licked them, tasting her lip gloss. He picked up her fork and cut himself a piece of the beef. The meal was a bridge; a gesture of caring. Her decision to drink from his glass, to touch her lips to the spot where his mouth had left traces of himself, had been a kind of acceptance of him. He returned the gesture, taking a trace of her in return.

A softer expression crossed Cheryl's features. She shifted in her seat and relaxed, slightly. They didn't talk until she'd finished the last piece of asparagus and rose to take the plates back to the tray. She stacked them and brought back two chilled plates. One had a slice of chocolate cake, the other had a slice of cheesecake.

"You can have both of these," she said, placing them in front of him. "I've got to do my homework." She left without another word and Jughead enjoyed his two desserts.

Jughead emailed Betty, sending her a link to a collection of funny cat videos. He thought about her upcoming date with Trevor and sulked, refusing to examine his feelings other than to acknowledge his preference for keeping their investigation small. He brought the tray and dishes back to the main house and set them on a table where someone would be sure to find them. He left, quickly, not wanting to run into the Blossoms. Eventually he changed into his pajamas and slipped between fresh-smelling sheets. He guessed he'd be sleeping alone that night, but wasn't all that surprised when Cheryl slipped under the covers beside him at around Midnight. He figured she had to wait until after her parents had gone to bed before leaving the house. She lay beside him, on her back, and stared at the ceiling. He waited until she'd let out her second heavy sigh before speaking.

"Thank you for dinner."

"You're welcome."

"We didn't bother to update the gate house," she began. Her voice was brittle and thin, like the first night she'd stayed with him. "Walking in here is a bit like walking back in time." She turned and looked at him. "I hadn't been in here for over a year, and nothing's changed in the last ten years." She looked at the fan on the ceiling. "I feel a little more connected to who I was before he died."

"I've heard that disassociation is common with a big loss, or a major change." Jughead wasn't sure why he chose to speak. "People who've lost someone, or get divorced, or have children, or have a life-altering event have reported feeling like they lose themselves. They've stopped being the person they were before it happened. You're not the Cheryl you used to be. You're someone else now; this place reminds you of how it felt to be the other Cheryl." He rolled onto his side. "You're allowed to miss her."

"I wish we weren't having this funeral," she lifted her hand and placed it against his cheek. "I never attended a funeral before; not for someone I actually cared about."

Technically, Cheryl had already attended Jason's funeral, but she'd been under the impression he was still alive at the time.

"All of the traditions that different civilizations follow when it comes to burying the dead have two major purposes." He placed his palm on the crown of her head. "To allow the living to make peace with their loved ones, and to show the world that the person who died…mattered." He saw her tilt her head. "Going to the trouble of observing traditions like dressing up for the service, or having flowers, or making a headstone means that this person mattered. He was worth the tears; he was worth the effort, and worth the pain of standing up in front of everyone and talking about your feelings, no matter how much it hurts."

"Jason deserves to be missed." Cheryl's lips trembled, slightly, and Jughead leaned down, and touched his own to them. It was just a gentle brush, and then he withdrew.

"Jason deserves to be missed," he repeated. He wasn't sure what had inspired his thoughtful commentary on death and funerals. He wasn't big on platitudes, but he'd attended funerals in the past, his father's friends, mostly. The Serpents had had their own traditions, and his father had first told him about why traditions were important. He hadn't thought that conversation would be significant to the Blossom family, but he supposed it fit for everyone. Cheryl's face, clean and pale, seemed to collapse under the weight of her emotions, and she turned away, hiding her expression.

Jughead scooted up behind her, tucking his knees behind hers. He brought one arm over her shoulder and the other under her neck. He clasped his arms over hers, where she hugged herself. He squeezed her, wringing a sniffle from her and held her until she got herself under control. She felt fragile to him, again. Breakable. He wanted to offer her some peace, and felt strangely pleased that he was the person she was asking for comfort.

"Thank you," she said, and cleared her throat.

"You're welcome."

Cheryl let out another sigh and Jughead smiled.

"I just…" The pretty redhead seemed to struggle with herself. She shifted around and he let go of her arms, watching her turn over until they shared a pillow. "I don't know," she said, but placed her palm on his chest. "I know last night was a little-"

"If you want this house to be…a place that doesn't exist in the rest of your life, that's fine. You can come here and be the other Cheryl." He placed his hand over hers and held it there.

"I don't want to seem weak," she said. "With the funeral coming up, I just can't seem to get any sleep." She seemed so vulnerable, and alone, surrounded by her terrifying family, she was clinging to him like a life raft. He was nobody's idea of a hero, but maybe she didn't need a hero. Maybe she didn't need him to save her. Maybe she just needed a little contact. He could do that for her.

"I don't think you're being weak," he said. "But I won't mention this," he gestured to the room around them, "to anyone. So be who you need to be here."

"What if I'm a loser?"

"You can be a loser."

"What if I'm demanding and needy?"

"You're allowed."

"What if I'm clingy?"

"I _guess_ you can cling," he said, with a sigh. "If you need to."

"But, just here." She moved her hands into his hair. "Nowhere else." She looked up at him, asking permission. Asking for something more, and asking him to keep it a secret. He nodded silently and let her pull his face down to hers.


End file.
